The Tributes: 1: Fields of Gold
by jedimasterathena
Summary: The odds were not in the favor of Terra Fylde. A series of scene depicted the struggle of an innocent farm girl from District 9, grain, in the 54th Hunger Games. An original cast of characters and arena and an outcome no one could have predicted.
1. The Reaping

**The Tributes**

* * *

**Fields of Gold**

**District 9: Terra Fylde**

**The Reaping**

* * *

I saw rather than heard Patroclus Zed, the escort for District Nine, bellow the name of the female tribute. Silence fell over the crowd gathered outside the Justice Building. At first, I didn't hear anything. Just like every year, I had my hands pressed over my ears. As long as I didn't hear anything, I always thought, I didn't have to hear my name. If I didn't hear my name I could go home. I could leave with the others and just watch the televisions as I did every year.

Patroclus called again. This time, a peacekeeper took me by the elbow, prying my hands away from my head. I heard the applause. No! I hadn't heard my name!

"There she is! Terra Fylde everybody!"

The clapping stopped before I reached the veranda. I was thankful for the silence. I didn't have to cover my ears as I climbed the granite steps to what would be my death and was able to spare myself some dignity.

"Ah, welcome, my dear!" Patroclus ushered me to one side of the stage where I stood dumbfounded, watching the bright sun glint on his bald head. The lightness of his touch, however, and the movement of his lime green eyebrows told me he thought me beneath him, a girl to be pitied. Another farmer's daughter from District 9. Another girl who would die in his Hunger Games.

The sudden realization hit me then. Looking out over the faces gathered in the square, I realized I would die before I saw any of them again. My ears strained for the cry of a volunteer, someone to take my place. Again, silence.

I scanned the crowd, finding my Aunt and Uncle. Their grey eyes, faded from a life time of hard work in the fields, met mine and held fast. I felt the first hot tear drip quietly down my cheek

"And, now for the young man." I didn't watch Patroclus pull the name of my fellow tribute from the reaping ball. I was small for sixteen. I didn't fight. I made biscuits. Surely, he could easily kill me.

"Rowan Seedar."

Very easily.

Rowan Seedar was eighteen, over six-feet tall and built, or rather bred through generations of farmers, for heavy labor. Maybe I could convince him to kill me painlessly before the other tributes could get to me.

I watched Rowan climb the steps to stand beside me. His dark eyes were soft but his mouth was hard. He walked with a purposeful stride his stare fixed on Barrick Larkspur who would be our mentor. Surely, I thought, he would try to win. I hoped he would.

"There you have it, Ladies and Gentlemen of District 9. Your tributes for the fifty-fourth Hunger Games." Patroclus Zed waved his arms around and Rowan and I shook hands.

_I'm so sorry._ Rowan mouthed. I couldn't even nod, afraid of tipping out all of my tears like a tea pot.

* * *

"Terra!" Cried my Aunt Rhye as they let her and my Uncle into the room where they were keeping me before I was loaded onto the train to be carted away like cattle. She ran to me, surrounding me in her embrace. I collapsed into the soft suppleness of her. She wrapped my long ponytail around her hands and held my head tightly. Uncle Mill rubbed heavy-handed circles on my back. This is how I spent the first night after my parents' deaths. Even now, during such a time, I took comfort in them.

After a long time, Aunt Rhye let me go and held me at arm's length. She looked me up and down just as she had done this morning after I had dressed myself for the reaping. We both knew she was looking at me for the last time.

Uncle, Mill, though, was more stalwart.

"Don't be gone too long, now," he said as if he might cry. "I'll be needing plenty of help when it comes time for the harvest."

I shook my head. It was a lie. I wouldn't be coming home.

* * *

"So," said Barrick over dinner that night on the train to the Capitol. "You've spent a lot of time in the fields, you're obviously strong. But," he grabbed another roll. I had lost my appetite when I woke up this morning and it had not returned. "Don't focus on that. Every boy from District Nine is built for farm work. What else can you do?"

"I can use a scythe," said Rowan.

Barrick, with his long hair tied back in a loose ponytail, contemplated this new information.

"That will be good. It's a rare weapon, but if you do well enough these next couple of days, the Gamemakers might throw one in the cornucopia for you."

"What about you, Dollface. What have you got for us to work with?" Patroclus asked me.

"What?" I pushed some kind of purple pea around on my plate, feeling overwhelmed and sighed. He did not repeat his question, but echoed my sigh.

"Oh, look at her, Barrick," said Patroclus, waving towards me with his wine glass. "the only weapon this girl could ever use is a knife and only against a carrot." To emphasize his point, he speared one on his fork. "If I were you, I'd focus on him." A green eyebrow raised in haughtiness as he pointed his now empty fork at Rowan.

Barrick just gave him a glare of his own.

"If I remember correctly, I am their mentor. I wish you would trust me to do my job."

He turned to me, wrapping my hand in both of his.

"Terra," he said, "I'm not going to give up on you." With one finger he tipped my chin away from my plate so I was looking him right in the eye. I saw his determination there and could almost feel a spark rise in myself.

"I promise you," he told me, "I will never give up on you, but you have got to help me out."

I might have even smiled.

* * *

**Up soon will be the next part of Terra's story as well as few other tributes I've thought of. If you guys have any ideas or would like to see anything happen in particular, shoot me a PM and I'll give you a shoutout! Please leave a review this is my first Hunger Games fic and one of my first first-person pieces so I would love the feedback.**


	2. The Capitol

**The Tributes**

* * *

**Fields of Gold**

**District 9: Terra Fylde**

**The Capitol**

* * *

I couldn't believe what I was wearing. I tried to wipe my hair out of my face, not used to it being down, but found the strands had been bound with a straw band. In fact, all of me was covered in some kind of straw or hay. It itched and I fidgeted in my dress that resembled a thatch roof more than actual fabric.

"How are you feeling?" asked Rowan beside me also dressed as a ridiculous haystack. He pet the neck of one of our black horses. Already, I missed the simplicity of the farm.

"I think it's best if I don't." I told him. Trying to suppress the electricity in my nerves that arose at the sound of the mass of onlookers that awaited us. The parade would begin soon. Terror like this was a new feeling for me. Yet, already in the day since I left home, I've experienced more than a lifetime's worth.

"Feel?" Rowan shook his head. "Then you've already lost."

Suddenly, my defeat turned to anger and I spun to face him.

"I'm not here to win!" I shouted, feeling the eyes of the other tributes on my back. Oh, what did they matter anyway.

Rowan took hold of my forearm. "You can't just give up like this."

"What's the point?" I climbed into the chariot, trying to disrupt as little of my costume as possible. Rowan opened his mouth to retort, but the line of chariots began to pull away. With a start, I grabbed onto Rowan to keep from spilling over. How was I ever going to survive in that arena.

* * *

That evening, after all of the excitement was over, I retired to the room that had been given to me. The first thing I did was put my hair back up in a blonde pile atop my head.

"There," I sighed, "back where you belong." At least something was in its proper place.

I crossed the room to the window and crossed my arms as I looked out over the city. The Capitol was unfathomably huge. I wondered if it was even possible for any one person to see it all. I turned away at the sound of a knock on my door. I let Rowan in.

"Terra," he said and fidgeted with his hands. They, like mine, were cleaner than I had ever seen them. Not a speck of grime lay under his fingernails.

"It's just like back at the farm," he finally said.

"What?"

"The Games."

I stared at him incredulously.

"The Games are nothing like home." I told him, sitting cross-legged on my bed. "None of this is like home." I gestured to the large living quarters as he took a seat beside me.

"It's like you said on the train. Why do we wring chickens' necks?"

"To eat," I tried to patch together his argument.

"Exactly. We kill because we have to survive. The Games are no different."

"They are when you're the chicken," I told him, feeling dwarfed beside him.

"You asked what the point was," Rowan stood and walked to the window just as I had done earlier. I watched his back, unsure if he was speaking to me or more to himself. "The thing is we're all just part of a game. That's all the Hunger Games are after all. The Capitol gives us tributes two options: fight each other or die of the Gamemaker's design. Whether the odds are in our favor or not we have to fight. We have to try." He turned back to me. "We have to fight because there's still the chance that we can win, the chance that we can make things better for the people we love back home."

I thought about this for a moment. Rowan was right. I would fight to survive. I would do all I could to get Rowan home. I knew I still wouldn't come out of this alive; but, if I could help Rowan get home. If I could help bring food and prosperity to Aunt Rhye and Uncle Mill, I would.

* * *

"What do I need to do?" I asked Barrick at breakfast one morning before training, "to survive." He seemed to perk at my sudden interest in self-preservation. To use his words, I was giving him something to work with. We spoke over bacon and the fluffiest eggs I'd ever eaten. I told him that I knew how to make a fire and knew what plants were safe to eat and I knew how to skin just about anything. He told me to get comfortable with a knife during training since it was the only weapon I could stand and could already use. It had been decided that I wouldn't be the combatant District Nine might need, but I could at least survive long enough for Rowan's sake.

"I'm glad to see someone's come around," remarked Patroclus and I thought I saw a hint of a smile from Rowan.

"I told you," said Barrick.

"What about everything else?" asked Rowan around a mouthful of food. "What about the sponsors and the interviews?"

Barrick leaned his elbows on the table, "You," he pointed to Rowan, "aren't a problem. You're a home cooked hero. Handsome. Charming. Smart. Just keep that up and the sponsors will eat you up."

"and Terra?" asked Patroclus. "She's so _innocent_."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Barrick. "Year after year the televisions are flooded with brutality and these kids who become beasts. Terra just has to show them she can't be corrupted by the Games. You're obviously not naive or childish, but you can play the audience to sympathize with you."

His charisma excited me, fanned the spark that had last night become a flame in my heart. Still, I knew that I was getting worked up over a charade. The innocent tributes never got very far unless they turned out to be hiding some sort of viciousness. For now, though, we at least had a plan which was good as any weapon.

* * *

"District Nine. Terra Fylde." The voice called me in for my individual adjudicating. Panic flared up in my chest. Rowan caught my shoulders on his way out.

"Just show them you're not the chicken," he told me. I knew that he could tell I was afraid. He had had enough practice.

I shook my head and he let me go. I had a plan. I would start a fire. Tie some knots. I would just do something to prove that I wasn't some helpless animal they could just slaughter.

I entered noticing the eerie silence of the training center without any other tributes clanging about. My heart picked up its pace to make up for the lack of noise.

"Ter-Terra Fylde," I choked out, "District Nine."

I manged to catch a bored nod from one of the Gamemakers up in their booth, my signal to begin.

...

I couldn't. I was frozen. Fear. Worry. Defeat. Panic. Sleepless nights and lost appetites all caught up with me.

Like an animal who had seen the knife.

_Show them you're not the chicken_.

"I am not an animal." I whispered so only I could hear. Already I could tell the Gamemakers were shuffling their papers, ready to dismiss me, give me a three out of mercy and bring in someone who could actually kill.

"I am not an animal." I said again, this time much louder and all movement stopped.

The next I knew I was singing.

_"You'll remember me when the west wind moves_  
_Upon the fields of barley_  
_You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky_  
_As we walk in fields of gold"_

Above me, the Gamemaker's began whispering to one another. Tendril of fear threatened to wrap around my throat, but I pushed them away. I continued with the lullaby that Aunt Rhye had sung to me time and time again, absorbing the confidence it gave me.

_"So she took her love  
For to gaze awhile  
Upon the fields of barley"_

"That is enough!" The man who I distinguished as the head Gamemaker stood up. "Enough. Thank you, Miss Fylde."

I knew then that I had done something I shouldn't have. What was intended as an innocent song was taken by the Gamemakers as a threat. Before the guards managed to wrestle me out of the training center I made sure to finish my song.

_"In his arms she fell as her hair came down  
Among the fields of gold"_

Perhaps, I could manage slightly higher than a pitiable three.

* * *

On the night of the interviews my stylist had my hair done up, this time twisted into an elaborate bun at the nape of my neck.

"Like bread," she had said, delighted with herself. It looked nothing like bread to me, but at least I wasn't wearing straw.

"You look great," said Rowan.

I resisted my first instinct to wrap my arms around myself to cover up my exposed neck and chest. I was in a seamless satin evening gown the color of wheat with pleats that ran all the way down to the floor. Never had I worn anything so elegant.

"So do you," I straightened his bow tie which matched the color of my gown. Things were looking up for District Nine. Who would have ever believed that I had managed to pull a score of seven after my stunt with the lullaby.

The interviews went smoothly. Just as Barrick had predicted, Rowan was seen as the charming hero who was just fighting to get back home and bring some honor with him.

Barrick was even right about my image. Even before my arrival in the Capitol, from the footage of the reaping, I had been counted out. All attentions had turned to Rowan. On stage, however, beneath the hot lights behind the new, purple-haired host, Caesar Flickerman, and armed with a silver seven, I saw how I had been put back in the game. I wished it was more than a facade.

Caesar asked me about the reaping. He spoke to me like a child and in the replay, with my hands over my ears, I sure looked like one. We reviewed the parade and then he asked me about my seven.

"It seems the amber waves of grain have become turning tides for you, Terra," Caesar said, all the while looking at the audience. I told him about slaughtering chickens back home. How Barrick had said I was a born killer. The audience laughed.

I deemed my interview a success, my heart filled with new hope. Perhaps, I could even get a few sponsors. Then, backstage, I caught the bloodthirsty glare of the girl from District Ten and I realized how much danger I was in. The other tributes thought I was pretending.

Later, Barrick informed me that the tributes from District Twelve wanted Rowan and I as allies.

"Tell them no," I instructed, remembering the malicious hatred in the eyes of the District Ten girl.

"Terra," he chastised, "You know we have to take any breaks we can get."

"I don't care!" I screamed at him. "I don't want any allies."

"Terra!" This time it was Rowan who was shouting. "This is our chance. If we had allies, there's a chance we could win."

"Why, Terra?" Barrick seemed to be pleading.

"Look," I put my metaphorical foot down, "you can have as many allies as you want in the Hunger Games, but you never have any less opponents." Everyone, even Patroclus with his constant criticisms, had grown quiet. "But," I continued, "In the end, twenty-four of us go into that arena and only one of us comes out." With this statement, I looked directly into Rowan's eyes and tried to make my expression as stern as possible. He seemed, to me, somehow betrayed. Didn't he know I was giving my life for him?

Eventually, they relented.

* * *

In bed, I stared up at the ceiling, only one thought on my mind. Soon, I would die. Likely tomorrow.

Everyone dies. I know that. Each morning we wake up and begin another day that will bring us all closer to our end, but most of us never know. We live as if it weren't coming. As if death couldn't find us if we pretended that it didn't exist. I realized this is how I had spent the seventeen years of my life which now seemed much too short. I lived the same way that I had stood in the square the day of the reaping, with my hands over my ears.

Of course, it had been my name that had been pulled from the reaping ball and now my days were numbered.

Though I know I needed to rest for the arena tomorrow, I could feel the nervous energy building inside me. I pushed aside the blankets and went to stand, arms wrapped around myself, by the window. I knew I could turn it to whatever I wanted. A tranquil forest, a peaceful sidewalk, a calming beach. But I left it as it was. Looking at the city lights, as I had done every night in this room, I though about what a waste my life had been. For as long as I could remember, I rose at sunrise and cooked breakfast for Aunt Rhye and Uncle Mill before starting my chores. Laundry. Chickens. Lunch. Clean. Mill. Dough. Dinner. Every day, day in and day out, had been the monotonous same. I had never seen the ocean. I had never done anything dangerous. I had never felt the embrace of a man.

And, with that thought, the idea which was more of an urge was planted in my mind. I tried to push it aside, telling myself that it was just the dose of mortality talking, but it persisted. Giving in, I stripped down to my underwear. Maybe the games had corrupted me. and I wasn't even in the arena yet.

Turning to find my dressing robe, I caught my reflection in the mirror.

I had never paid much attention to how I looked or the shape of my body. Now, though, I couldn't take my eyes away. I ran my fingers over the soft blush in my cheeks, down over the chords of my neck. I felt the bony lines of my collar bones and watched my middle rise and fall with each shaky breath I took. I did not stop. I let my hands finish tracing the hourglass outline of my hips before slipping on the silk robe and sliding out of my room.

In the darkened corridor, I tiptoed my way down the hall to Rowan's door. A light was on beneath the door and, before I could stop myself, I rapped my knuckles gently against it.

A few moments passed then the light was disrupted by the movement of shadows. Rowan opened the door. He was shirtless and rubbing down his hair with a towel. My throat went dry with apprehension. This wasn't going to be easy.

"Terra," the greeting was more of a gasp.

"Rowan," I tried to keep my voice from shaking as I stepped past him.

"Couldn't sleep?" He asked in a whisper. I had my back to him but nodded in confirmation and he chuckled a bit. "Neither could I." I heard the towel he was using on his hair fall to the bed. My racing heart soon blocked out everything else.

Rowan seemed to notice my unease because he was quickly behind me. I turned, but did not face him. So many colors were coursing through my veins that I doubt I would have been able to see him. There was red anger at the Capitol that was forcing me to hand over my innocent life. Green envy for the career tributes who were probably celebrating their upcoming triumphs or for all of the other girls in District Nine who were sleeping in their own beds tonight. Blue defeat. Violet like the wildflowers that grew in the barley fields back home.

"Hey," Rowan's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "Are you alright?"

"I don't want to die," I said, no longer fighting the tears.

It was a stupid thing to say and I was blubbering over my tears like the little farmgirl I was, but he wrapped me in his arms anyway. I held tight to him, the boy who was still a stranger but with whom I would spend my last days. He squeezed me tight and I clung to him, crying hot tears against the warmth of his chest.

"I'm so sorry," He said, just as he had on reaping day, as if he were in some way to blame for the fates we had been dealt. I could feel him press the weight of his cheek against the top of my head. "I'm so sorry." He said those three words over and over again. I wondered if he too was crying.

Shaky breaths and apologies were what we had been reduced to.

"I'm so-"

I cut him off with a kiss. I didn't want to hear him say it again.

At first the kiss was wet and salty from the tears that had made their way to my lips. The hot air of our breaths brushed my face in a way that wasn't entirely uncomfortable. For a moment, just a brief fraction of time, I could feel his mouth move against mine, responding to the kiss, deepening it. Then he was gone.

"Terra," he warned. He took a step back and I took a step forward, shedding my robe. His eyes widened and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

I reached for his cheek and he brought our lips together again. I was clumsy, unsure what I should be doing, but Rowan opened his mouth, guided me with his tongue. We broke apart again to breathe, keeping our foreheads together. I breathed him in. His scent was musky and masculine like wood smoke and spice. Something in my stomach trembled.

"Rowan, please," I said, my voice meek. Surely he had done this before. Surely he understood what it is I was asking.

His sigh told me that he had and he did. He shook his head slightly, disagreeing. I wanted to tell him that it was not love. That I was asking for no more than a night. That he would merely be helping a dying girl to live for a few hours more before she accepts what the sunrise will bring.

"Please," I said again, struggling to keep my voice from a plea.

He pursed his lips and puffed air from his nose. My fingers splay themselves over tanned skin that is stretched over the hard muscles of his abdomen, trace the well-defined "V" that leads even lower. He sighed once. Then, in a surprisingly gentle gesture, removed the pins from my hair, freeing the honey flax waves. He took a few strands in his hand, feeling their softness. In his teary eyes, I saw home.

* * *

Neither of us slept well that night. We lay together, intertwined, and I thought of the feel of his calloused hands following the curves of my body just as I had done in front of the mirror. I thought of his lips on my throat and on my breasts. Once, near dawn, he wrapped me in his arms and cried quietly into my chest. I ran my fingers through his sandy shags of hair, praying that my presence brought him some comfort, some much-needed sleep.

When early-morning grey began to sneak past the darkness of Rowan's room we opened our eyes, tired but glad to leave the nightmares behind, and said a silent goodbye to our lives as we knew them.

* * *

**Alrighty, Terra: Part II: complete! What did you guys think? Are you guys, as readers, able to get a sense of character development and maturity from Terra? What about the other characters? What did you like or dislike? Please leave a review and let me know. i read all of them and take them all to heart. If I don't know what I'm doing wrong I can't be a better writer. I value my readers so so so much and want to provide you guys with the best story I can! Hunger Games fans: did I do a good job? **


	3. The Bloodbath

**The Tributes**

* * *

**District 9: Terra Fylde**

**The Bloodbath**

* * *

We were raised into the arena through some kind of tube. Loaded into glass canisters and set forth towards our destinies. _Strange, _I thought as I pushed away pangs of panic that threatened to reduce me to shivers as I rose through the dark. I'd never given much thought to such a concept as destiny. I guess I considered it too grand of an idea for me to even have one.

Now, though, the light from the arena was blinding and I knew that I not only had a destiny, but I would soon find out what it was.

When my eyes adjusted I could tell we were in a field. The same warm breeze that kissed my face blew in the tall grass that rose to my thighs. With great trepidation, I extended my hand, palm down, and let the wind-blown blades softly caress the sensitive flesh of my palm.

My first thought was of home and it was the first blow of the war . My second thought was of survival. I was one of the smallest of the tributes, if I crouched low enough I could maybe conceal myself in the grass and get away from here and disappear down into the valley behind me as quickly as possible.

Then I saw the face of the boy to my right. Just like the girl from Ten last night after the interview he wore a grimace full of teeth and blood thirst. My throat went dry. The double facade of innocence, the guise of a trickster that the other tributes had painted for me, would not last long here in the arena, especially if I were attacked.

I looked away from him, remembering my promise to help Rowan in any way I could for the sake of District Nine. He was to my left, one tribute between us, and I met his eyes as the countdown began.

25. 24. I could feel myself shaking as the numbers grew smaller and smaller. I had no time to contemplate how the previous night, how what we had shared, had changed us. Now, I was fighting in the Hunger Games. All I felt was primal and geared towards making it home.

16. 14.

Rowan's eyes flitted from the boy to my right and he tucked his chin to his chest. From the gesture, I knew he wanted me to get as close to him as possible.

4. 3.

The last few seconds ticked away and Rowan shot off his pedestal towards the cornucopia. I ran several yards then dropped into the grass, pushing myself as low into the ground as possible, letting the bloodbath happen over my head.

I was not the first to die in the Hunger Games. As I trotted hunched and awkward towards to cornucopia, I heard the final anguished cries of fallen tributes. Thus far, my plan had worked, but I didn't dare stand up. Instead, I ducked even lower.

What I hadn't predicted in this plan of mine, however, were the bodies. I stumbled over the girl from district four. Her eyes were open and she stared at the sky. Her throat had been slit and stained the earth around her. A sound of horror, something between a gasp and a grunt escaped me. I tried to stop it, even covered my mouth, but it was too late. I was being hunted and had given away my location.

Unable to stand, I dug my heels into the ground in order to move myself as far away from the dead girl as fast as I could. Still, it was no use. In a matter of seconds, a pair of boots, identical to the ones I wore, only much much larger were inches from my face. When he picked me up by my hair, I knew it was the boy who had been beside me on the pedestal. He held my head back so I was forced to look him in the eye from where I was kneeling on the ground. So this is how it would end.

The blood was warm against my face. I let out a breath that I was sure would be my last and was shocked to find I could take another. It had not been not my blood that had splattered against my face, but that of my captor. I gasped in relief as I saw Rowan standing before me, a scythe in his hand dripping red from the other boy's midsection.

"Let's go!" Rowan yelled, pulling me up and handing me a pack. Together, we took off into the valley not daring to look back.

* * *

"Rowan," I huffed, "Wait!" I'm not sure how long we had been running, but the cannons had begun to fire, signaling the number of fallen tributes. So far I had counted six.

"Terra," Rowan backtracked to where I had stopped to catch my breath. "We have to keep going. We can't stop now."

I looked into his eyes and saw the panic. All the time we had been running he gripped the handle of his scythe, turning his knuckles white. The blood on its blade had begun to dry. I looked back the way we had come. Nothing save for endless grass until the horizon.

"We have to find shelter," said Rowan and I could hear the exhaustion in his voice. We couldn't keep running like this. Especially though the open field.

I nodded and swallowed to try and wet my throat. Standing straight, I turned to see where we were going.

"What is that?" I pointed to a small structure, not much more than a shack in the distance.

"Let's go," Rowan started off, shouldering my pack as well as his own.

What had looked like a shack, as we approached, materialized into an old mill. It wasn't necessarily a large structure, but since we had seen nothing taller than a shrub all day, our pace quickened and we yearned to be out of the open. Seeing the stream that trickled into the mill pond, I broke into a joyous sprint, eager for a cool drink. Rowan easily caught up to me and took hold of my arm.

"Stop,"

"Why?" I pleaded.

"It's the only shelter for miles. I doubt we're the only ones to find it."

So we took the rest of the way slow, with Rowan in the lead with his scythe and my eyes to our backs.

The mill was made of old stone and, save for the rustling of the grass caused by the breeze and what I expected to be field mice, everything was quiet. Rowan took the first step inside the mill. Inside, there was none of the musty smell that I had expected. I had to remind myself that the whole arena was of the Gamemaker's design. Luckily, were alone and I breathed a whole lot easier.

"The second floor looks stable," Rowan pointed out. "We'll be safer up there." I followed, feeling indeed safer than I had all day.

Up above ground level, I felt as if this old mill were our fortress. Of course, being the only source of shelter for miles, I knew that sooner or later we would have to either leave or fight the others for it. For now, though, we could rest. I leaned against a wall, trying to process what had happened today. The countdown. Rowan gutting the boy who had caught me by the hair. The running. The thirst.

Rowan let me be and set our packs out and began to sort through our provisions.

"I didn't get a chance to search through them," he said and I saw the blood on the strap of his and was silently thankful he had given me the one he had not had to kill for.

After seeing the contents of our packs, I had pushed aside the thought of who had died for us to have the second pack. There was an empty canteen in each. A scrap of fabric. A total of three knives. A box of matches, a granola bar and a needle with about four feet of thread. We had survived the bloodbath and now had supplies. My hopes were beginning to rise.

The next few hours before sunset, Rowan and I spent gathering our bearings. I filled our canteens from the stream as Rowan scrubbed the blood from his scythe and hands. At the sound of cannon fire, his scrubbing intensified. Already, the arena was affecting him.

I made a fire and cooked half a dozen field rats Rowan had managed to catch. When it started to get dark, I smothered our fire and we climbed into our loft in the mill to eat and try and get some sleep.

I sat, my shoulder touching his, picking the little bit of meat there was off of a rat and watching Rowan stare over the endless stretch of grass. My first thought was that he was keeping watch, but when I managed to see his eyes, I knew he was far off in thought. I wondered how many people he had killed today.

"I'm full," I lied, handing him my last rat. He could tell it wasn't the truth, but I had managed to get rid of the ravenous edge and, besides, he was the one who was going to do the most work. He would use the most calories. He was the one who was going to live. Despite any reservations he might have had, he took it.

Sipping water, I rested against him as the sun sank below the grass. Very little time passed before the sky was full of stars, more than I had ever seen before. The anthem of the Capitol broke the peaceful silence. In the early darkness, we watched as the faces of the fallen tributes appeared in the sky. The first face was that of the boy Rowan had killed to save me. He was from District Three and I realized Rowan had killed a career. While debating whether this was beneficial because we now had one less hunter after us or whether the other careers would chase us and seek vengeance, I watched the sky. I saw the girl from Four, whose body I had tripped over, then the girl from Six. Then the boy from Seven and, from the way Rowan tensed beside me, I knew it was the original owner of our second pack. Both of the tributes from Eight were dead as well as the boys from Ten and Eleven. Eight tributes were gone. No doubt, with the lack of shelter, this would be a short Games.

When our loft was once again blanketed in silence and darkness, I reached for Rowan's hand. He grasped it firmly. As I lay down to attempt sleep, my thoughts drifted back to the night we had spent together, the physical union we had shared. After today, it seemed so far away. Yet, we had grown closer. Of course, it was not romance, merely survival, that bonded us. I hoped it would stay this way, for it would be much harder for Rowan to let me die if things were any other way.

* * *

A cry in the night rousted me from my sleep that first night. I sat up and turned to Rowan whose chest still rose and fell steadily with sleep. The cry came again.

I crawled to the window we had that looked out from our loft and, as my eyes adjusted, I could see rustling in the grass below.

"Rowan," I whispered, shaking him awake. He sat up and I pointed.

We watched as the girl from District Twelve emerged from the tall grass. She ran with a terrible limp and held one hand to her arm which I presumed was broken or otherwise badly injured.

"THORNE!" She cried, her words clear now that she was closer. "THORNE!" She was crying the name of her fellow tribute, the boy from District Twelve who was no where to be seen. Because her cries were more anguished than seeking and from her injuries, I guessed she had just come from a fight from which the boy would never return. As if to affirm my speculations, a cannon fired.

"She's being chased," I whispered, not taking my eyes off her. "Rowan, she's going to bring them here."

"THORNE!" Another crazed wail sliced through the air between us.

"Terra," Rowan instructed, fumbling through his bag. "Stay here."

I saw the knife and reached for his arm, but he avoided my grasp and climbed down the ladder to the first floor of the mill.

"THORNE!"

I knew Rowan was right. We couldn't let her get any closer to our hideout. We couldn't let her injured screams draw a pack of careers to us. I lay down again, and put my hands over my ears just as I had done the day of the reaping. This time I was crying, knowing another cannon would fire tonight. I could still her scream.

"THORNE!"

_BOOM!_

* * *

**So, I decided to split part three into two parts because it ended up being longer than I predicted. So, here's part I of part III. Haha. Leave a review please!**


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